


jojo arrives, and jojo arrives

by PadawanNerd



Category: Arrival (2016), ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: 'Arrival' spoilers, Action, Action & Romance, Adoption, Aged-Up Character(s), Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Aliens, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Stands (JoJo), Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Arguing, Biology, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Cancer, Character Death, Character Study, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Coming Out, Confusing, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Denial, Denial of Feelings, Developing Friendships, Eventual Romance, Everyone Is Gay, Explosions, F/F, Falling In Love, Family, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fatherhood, Follows the plot of Arrival, Foreshadowing, Friends to Lovers, Future, Gay, Gay Male Character, Good Dad jotaro, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Heptapods, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Japanese, Language Barrier, Languages, Languages and Linguistics, Lesbian Character, Linguistics, Love, M/M, Marine Biology, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Canonical Character(s), Musical References, No Smut, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Alternating, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Past Relationship(s), Pop Culture, Post-Divorce, Present Tense, Professors, References to Canon, References to Illness, Repression, Romance, Sad, Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis, Science, Science Fiction, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Symbolism, Tarot, Teenage Rebellion, Time Shenanigans, Time Skips, Timeline What Timeline, Timey-Wimey, Worth Re-Reading, except it's gay, kind of, mostly - Freeform, no spoilers for JoJo, other characters not mentioned in tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-29 10:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadawanNerd/pseuds/PadawanNerd
Summary: Repetition /re-pe-TI-shun/ (n): 1. the action of repeating something that has already been said or written. 2. the recurrence of an action or event.Reduplication /ree-dyu-pli-KAY-shun/ (n): a morphological process in which the root or stem of a word (or part of it) or even the whole word is repeated exactly or with a slight change. Examples: ‘Papa’ and ‘Mama’, ‘papaya’, ‘coconut’, and… ‘JoJo’.(Wikipedia)-----------------The past repeats itself in the future, and the future repeats itself in the past.





	1. i don't wanna close my eyes

“Daddy!”

“Papa!”

“Dad, and –”

“Pops, and –”

“ _JoJo_.”

 

* * *

 

He dreams of his little girl again that night. She is laughing at something he said, her plaits bouncing in the wind as she runs towards – or is it away from him? He wouldn’t normally approve of kids dying their hair, but she looks so cute with the little green braids and the blue buns. She has butterfly hairclips and the cutest smile he ever saw…

He wakes up with tears on his face.

* * *

 

Even fewer students have turned up for his lecture on the digestive systems of echinoderms than usual. It’s a little depressing: every year the same studious nerds take pity on him while the others go out doing… whatever it is they do in their free time. On an early Monday morning, probably sleeping; he doesn’t blame them. He’s barely awake himself.

Good grief. He had been one of the studious ones, once, and now look at him. A washed-up university professor with a cool hat talking about fish guts. (No, he reminds himself firmly, _echinoderm_ guts.)

Still, there’s never usually this few. He can at least normally count the attendees with two hands, rather than one.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “There a big event or something?”

There’s a buzz from a phone in the back row. He glares at the disturbance, but the student ignores him and gapes at the screen; Giorno was never particularly good at following the classroom rules. In the front row, one of his brightest students – Koichi, another blond – coughs and shifts nervously in his seat.

“Erm, Professor Kujo… could you turn on the news?”

He frowns at the kid – barely out of high school, must be, and he usually comes in with his scary girlfriend – but does as Koichi asks.

After a few minutes, he lets the rest of the class go home.

 

* * *

 

She stands on the edge of the river with her boots sinking into the mud, watching the butterflies flit past her head: it’s just the right season to see almost all of the different types, and she stares in wonder at the colourful patterns.

“I want to study butterflies,” she announces to him. “They’re really cool.”

“If you want to, go ahead. There’s nothing stopping you.”

She smiles at that, a massive grin from ear to ear, still as cute as when she was tiny. She lifts a hand to point at one of the butterflies and her bracelet jingles. “That one’s a Monarch,” she says. “And that one’s a swallowtail.”

“Ah,” he nods. “And what’s that one, Professor?”

She giggles. “That’s my hair-clip, silly!”

 

* * *

 

For a couple of hours, he sits in his office pretending that he has any idea what to do in this situation. The… things are cropping up all over the place, apparently – in the South China Sea, near Greenland, at the mouth of the Amazon. There doesn’t seem to be any pattern to where they are placed, except that they are invariably somewhere near the ocean. There’s one a couple of hours away from him, apparently, just to the north.

Grading papers takes his mind off things for a while, but after a few minutes he sees a diagram of the structure of an octopus tentacle, and immediately thinks of slimy things emerging from the depths. It’s weird – he’s a marine biologist, for god’s sake, he shouldn’t be afraid of the ocean, but –

He goes home for the day.

The traffic getting home again, of course, is hell; he gets side-swiped a couple times by maniacs panicking and running towards the edge, the front, anywhere that would get them to where they want to be. He gets it, really, but he just wants to lie down; instead, once he’s safely in his living room, he calls his mother.

“Yeah, Mom, I saw it. No, I don’t know anything more than you do. Yeah, in the ocean. Weird. M-hm. Yeah, I’m fine… Just tired, I guess. You? Mm. Okay. Stay safe, okay? Yeah. M-hm. Love you too. Okay. Bye.”

He puts down the phone and stares at the TV screen dully. It’s too big for him, as is his house, as is his entire life. Even a guy like him, who towers over most people with ease, isn’t big enough to fill the space that’s left in this lonely, clean-lined house. He never needed it – he had insisted that he only needed an apartment, but his mother and his grandparents are convinced that something might happen for him. They want the best for him.

The news flickers gently on the screen. More disturbance in the streets; lootings; fires being started and graffiti proclaiming the end times. Riots. Some people down in Southeast Asia or wherever the fuck setting off fireworks like idiots, convinced that the things are here to save them. Some punks in Rio di Janeiro burning an effigy of someone.

The night is lonely, and full of half-remembered secrets.

 

* * *

 

She dresses up as Spider-Girl for Halloween one year and goes running through the house in her costume making noises as if she’s slinging webs back and forth. She pretends to swing off coat racks and door handles, flinging an imaginary web out into the void.

Of course, they _have_ to wear matching costumes: he’s supposed to be Aquaman, but the costume showed too much skin, so he’s Batman. The other person – they were going to be a Spider, too, but they change their mind at the last minute because they have the perfect costume for a member of the Fantastic Four.

Later that evening, she gets sick from eating too many sweets, and the Fantastic Four costume is ruined.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” the other person says. “Let’s just get this cleaned up, shall we?”

He nods and gets the Bat-Mop.

 

* * *

 

For lack of anything else to do, he goes back to work the next day: the world must go on, even if the things are still there. Not that any of the students have come back, of course: he didn’t really expect them to. He goes back to his research.

There’s a knock on his door. Good grief, he can’t even get a break in the apocalypse.

“Come in.”

The man who enters is stiff, muscled, with short cropped white hair and an eyepatch; a military man of some kind, with a stiff, formal walk and a couple of bodyguards. Not the kind of guy that he normally has in his office, but then this isn’t exactly a normal day.

“Professor Kujo,” says the officer. He has a vague but distinguishable German accent. “My name is General Rudol von Stroheim. I need to speak to you about something. In confidentiality.”

He gestures towards the seat in front of him. “Be my guest.”

Stroheim sits tensely, leaning forward and staring at him for a while; at last, the officer pulls out a phone from a pocket. “I need you to identify this creature for me.”

With that, Stroheim turns the phone towards him, and he sees a blurry black-grey shape in whitish mists.

“That’s not enough to go on,” he grunts. “Even if it was, it wouldn’t be useful to you anyway; it wouldn’t tell you where the thing had come from.”

“How do you know we needed to know that?”

He rolls his eyes. “Because everyone wants to know that. That and, ‘are they dangerous’.”

Stroheim snorts. “You’re goddamn right about that part, at least. Everyone and his mother is terrified they’ll zap us to kingdom come. Confidentially speaking, that is.”

“Of course.”

“So…” Stroheim stands again. “You can’t identify it? I suppose I’ll have to go to your rival, then, won’t I.”

“You could,” he agrees, evenly. “But Dio Brando couldn’t help you with this either. If you want my advice, you should ask someone to come with you. To help in the identification process.”

Stroheim snorts. “And that would be you, of course. Well, Professor Kujo, I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Indeed. And – General Stroheim?”

Stroheim turns at the door. “What?”

“Before you make your decision, ask _Professor_ Brando which species he would classify a Portuguese Man-o-War as.”

“Portuguese Man-O-War?”

“Mm. Oh, and do me a favour and call him a _neoclinus blanchardi_ for me, will you?”

“I’m not your errand-boy, Kujo,” sniffs Stroheim.

He goes back to looking at papers. “Trust me. It’ll be very… enlightening.”

 

* * *

 

She tags him quickly, sprinting away across the grass. “You’re it!”

“I’m coming to get you!”

“Not if you can’t catch me!”

He hears footsteps running behind him and turns around suddenly, but the other person is too fast for him; before he can see their face, the other person is putting their hands over his eyes.

“Gotcha. Guess who?” they tease. “I won’t let go until you’ve guessed.”

He feels himself smile under their hands, and twists around suddenly to put his mouth against theirs, his eyes shut tight. They kiss him back, their mouth lower than his but stretching up to reach: that’s a good enough guess for him, at least.

“Ew, gross!” She’s standing there in front of the two of them, wrinkling her nose and sticking out her tongue. “I don’t wanna see that!”

He untangles himself from the other person’s hold and walks towards her, holding out his hands. “Come here, you. You get a kiss, too.”

She snorts. “As if. You’re still it, remember?”

He laughs aloud, the sound echoing through the fields. “All right, but I’m warning you, you won’t get very far!”

 

* * *

 

He spends the evening at home, as usual; the TV shows the same news stories it was showing yesterday, with no development on what, or who, has come to visit the Earth. At last, he turns it off with a sigh.

As if on cue, a helicopter passes low over the house, and – wait, is it landing? Here? Shit. He goes out to meet them. General Stroheim looks _pissed_.

“Jellyfish,” Stroheim grunts at him. “And I suppose you’re here to tell me that’s wrong.”

 “The Portuguese Man-O-War,” he replies, “is a siphonophore, a colonial organism made of specialised individuals that happens to look a lot like a jellyfish.”

 “Asshole,” says General Stroheim. “You knew he couldn’t do it and you knew he’d flip out at me accidentally calling him a ‘sarcastic fringehead’. That’s the last time I trust a scientist.”

He folds his arms. “Well, looks like you might have to break that promise, Stroheim, because someone needs to identify that creature. Isn’t that why you’ve come?”

“Damn you.” Stroheim shakes his head. “Yes, but we don’t have much time. You have five minutes to pack.”

“Give me ten.”

Stroheim grunts. He takes fifteen minutes.

 

* * *

 

“I’m going out, Papa,” she says. “With some friends.”

“Which friends?”

“Narcy. Herm. You know, the usual.”

He gives her a stern look. “How late are you planning on staying out?”

She shrugs. “We’ll see. If Herm invites me to stay the night, I’ll call you, right?”

“Promise?”

She nods. “I promise.”

“And if you feel bad about anything –” He gestures to the phone. “You can call and have us pick you up at any time, all right?”

She smiles again, a little more guarded than she was before puberty hit, but nods. “I will. Thanks, Pops. See ya.”

“Bye, sweetie. Love you.” The door clicks closed behind her.

 

* * *

 

Stroheim growls at him as he gets on the plane with his bag. “Took you long enough.”

He shrugs and finds a seat. “I needed some notebooks that were hard to find.”

Stroheim frowns, then gestures at the helicopter’s only other passenger, a red-haired man about his own age with violet eyes and cherry-shaped earrings sitting in the row ahead of him.

“This is Professor Noriaki Kakyoin. Our cunning linguist.”

“Excuse me?”

Kakyoin gives a small cough and pushes up his glasses. “General, I would much rather you didn’t call me that. Just because I’m an expert in the field of linguistics…” The helicopter begins to take off, and he can’t hear anything else. Kakyoin gestures for him to put on the headphones; he obeys and hears Stroheim’s voice whining through the speakers.

“Come on, don’t you get it?”

Kakyoin rolls his eyes -- there’s a unique pair of parallel scars bisecting them, and Jotaro wonders what kind of trouble an unassuming man like Kakyoin might have got into for marks like that – and shrugs. “I’ve heard it a million times before, that’s all. Anyway –” Kakyoin’s gaze turns back to him – “I haven’t heard your name yet, Mister –”

“Kujo.” He stretches out his hand. “Professor Jotaro Kujo. Marine biologist. Just Jotaro is fine, if you want.”

Kakyoin nods and turns in his seat to take Jotaro’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Jotaro. That’s an interesting bracelet.”

The plain metal bracelet with its single simple inscription jingles, and Jotaro withdraws his hand. “It’s… an heirloom.”

The ‘cunning linguist’ smiles. “So, anyway. What’s a marine biologist doing on an expedition like this, huh? You could be at home spending the apocalypse with your family.”

“No, thanks.” He frowns. “What’s a linguist doing on a trip like this, huh?”

“Don’t avoid my question with another question. It’s not cute.” Kakyoin tucks a long, stray lock of hair behind their ear. “To answer your question, that idiot –” he gestures to Stroheim – “thought I could translate an alien language just by listening to one fragmented recording out of context. He was wrong, so I’m coming to try and communicate with them properly.”

“You too?” he grins. “Seems like the military overestimates scientists’ capabilities all across the board, doesn’t it?”

Kakyoin snorts. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“He thinks I can help identify the creature and tell them whether it’s a threat or not just by a picture. As if I could even come close to understanding a new species without extensive study and research.” Jotaro rolls his eyes. “So, yeah. Pretty much the same as you.”

The ‘cunning linguist’ grins at him. “Brilliant. Why don’t we be friends?”


	2. i don't wanna fall asleep

Her name, typed up neatly at the top of the paper, is the first thing he sees. Her age: six months. Parents out of the picture. He can’t believe it: it’s real. It’s happening at last.

The other person’s hand rests on his own. “Our baby girl,” they say. “Our lovely girl.”

“She’s gonna be ours soon,” he agrees. “We should get the room cleaned up for her.”

“Hmm.” He can hear the smile in their voice. “Okay. Let’s do that today.”

Her room is beautiful. The other person has painted murals on two of the walls, one of a starry sky and one of a beautiful, sunny beach. Her cot has the prettiest solar system mobile, and he’s put up a few framed pictures of dolphins and other fascinating marine animals. Whatever other surfaces are available have been painted blue and pink and as many other colours as they can get a hold of; they don’t clash, somehow, due to the other person’s careful planning, but meld together into one bright and vibrant piece of wonderful art. It’s a shame she’s not old enough to enjoy it yet.

“You think I should paint her name on the door?” the other person asks. “Is that too much?”

“No,” he smiles, “that’s perfect.”

 

* * *

 

Stroheim wakes him up just before sunrise, as they’re about to pass through a gap between two smooth mountains leading down to the coast. It’s just beginning to get light, and he can make out the tiny temporary camp that has been set up on the beach. Cars run back and forth out of it, and he can see some sort of military barrier a little way inland, keeping hundreds of tiny vehicles at bay.

Most importantly, however, not half a mile off the coast, he sees the _thing._

It’s big. As big as one of the mountains they just flew past, or bigger. Its shadow is already beginning to fall towards the beach, the long black area of shade covering the area of a small town at least. The creatures who built such a monstrosity must be… enormous, he thinks, to justify that much pure size; or maybe there’s hundreds and hundreds of human-sized ones, all ready to pounce on the bipedal world. He’s not sure which option is worse.

The thing is smooth, and black, and curved in an unnatural way. It reminds him of a black jelly bean, only somewhat less appetising. More… threatening. And it’s floating.

At first, he thinks it’s a trick of the light, that there must be something underneath the thing to support it against the waves beneath; then, he notices that the shadow doesn’t touch, _anywhere_ , and swallows. Suddenly the sea looks a whole lot further away than it did before.

In front of him, Kakyoin makes a noise halfway between a moan and a whimper; exactly how he feels. Even Stroheim, who presumably has seen this thing before, seems awestruck.

“There she is, boys. The Obelisk.”

“The Obelisk…” breathes Kakyoin. “My god. I never thought it’d be…” He shakes his head quickly. “Unbelievable.”

Stroheim grunts. “You better start believing it, my friend. This, until we can find out what they want from us, is the reality.”

Kakyoin just nods.

He can’t make a sound.

 

* * *

 

On her birthday, he gives her the bracelet that has been passed down in his family for generations, ever since what’s-his-name Joestar decided that his son should be called Jonathan. It’s a plain metal chain, sturdy but light, with a simple plaque in the centre.

She twists and turns the bracelet on her wrist, listening to its vague jingling. “I’m… part of the family?” she asks, almost not believing it.

“Of course you are,” he says. “You’re our daughter. Nothing else matters.”

She looks up at him and breaks into one of those massive beaming grins that has his heart melting every time. “Th-thanks, Dad! I – I won’t lose it, I promise!”

She keeps her promise.

 

* * *

 

The base is packed with military types like Stroheim; all running backwards and forwards, carrying strange instruments and boxes. He sees a few people with lab coats like his; otherwise, it’s more of the same camouflage. Much good that’ll do in an attack if the creatures navigate by sound or infrared, of course; he makes a mental note to let Stroheim know.

“One of the boys will show you two to your quarters,” Stroheim shouts, over the clatter and crowds, “but first we need to take you both to see our resident medical man. Just give your bags to Private Nijimura over there.” He gestures towards the nearest uniform, a slouchy kind of guy with two scars crossing his face.

Jotaro obeys, reluctantly, and is only slightly comforted by the wide-eyed Nijimura giving a lazy salute and half-shouting, “I’ll look after your stuff, mister professor, sir!” By the looks of it, Kakyoin is equally reluctant; but what choice do they have? They’re army lackeys now. They have to deal with it.

They also have to deal with the ‘medical man’, a pretty-boy type with an overly fancy hairdo for someone in the military. Stroheim introduces him as ‘Doctor Higashita’, and the guy – really he can’t be any older than Jotaro, is he even out of medical school yet? – laughs: “Oh, please, it’s Josuke! I can’t go shovin’ medicine into ya and you not call me my first name.”

It’s people like that that make him regret wanting a doctorate.

“Don’t ya worry, Professors,” announces Higashita, wielding a large array of needles, “This won’t hurt a bit.”

It hurts. Like a bitch.

When ‘Doctor Higashita’ has made sure that both Jotaro and Kakyoin are safe from any infections or diseases, Stroheim brings in another uniform: a flat-top blond that reminds him of an ugly Koichi.

“This is the other Private Nijimura. He’ll show you to your quarters. You have your first contact with the creatures at oh-nine-hundred hours; be ready in your rooms by oh-eight-hundred.”

He looks at his watch. It’s seven o’clock in the morning. Goddammit.

“Better get used to those irregular sleep schedules, boys,” smirks Stroheim. “The creatures only let us in every eighteen hours. Now… get moving!”

They get moving. They don’t really have any choice.

 

* * *

 

“Papa, I swear, I’ll be fine –”

He shakes his head and brushes just one more dust particle off her dress. “I just want to make sure you’re ready, that’s all.”

She turns and smiles, showing a mouthful of colourful braces. “It’s gonna be great, Pops!” she enthuses. “I’ve got all my lines memorised, and –”

“I know, I know,” he sighs. “We’ll be cheering you on, all right?”

“Yeah!” she grins. “Get ready for your socks to be blown off!”

 

* * *

 

Private Nijimura – the one with the face scars – comes to pick him up an hour later, as promised. “Mister Professor, sir?”

“Just Professor Kujo is fine.”

Nijimura scrunches up his face in confusion, but nods. “Uh… ya gonna bring that big ol’ notebook ya got there, Professor Kujo?”

Jotaro looks down at his (almost) new book for field notes. “Is that a problem?”

“’S just, ya can’t take stuff in with ya, y’know?” Nijimura shrugs and scratches his left scar contemplatively. “’S not good for… what’s that word Josuke uses? ‘Dee-con-tam-i-nay-shun’.”

“You expect me to go in there without any notebooks, or cameras, or anything?” he frowns.

The officer thinks about this for a while; Jotaro can see the gears turning in his head. “I guess not,” he concedes, at last. “But it’s gonna get blasted with anti-bacs and shit.”

“That’s fine.” Jotaro closes the notepad securely. “These notebooks are pretty sturdy.”

“Right!” Nijimura gives one of his sloppy, half-assed salutes, and grins. “Come on, then! Ya gotta make sure ya take a shit before ya get to the creatures!”

 

* * *

 

“Dad, how do I ask out a girl?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. Not my area of expertise.”

She frowns. “Then… how did you two get together?”

He turns toward her, leaning forward a little in his chair. “At first, we just hung out together a lot. Then we hung out all the time. And then – we decided to hang out together for the rest of our lives.”

“Oh!” Her face splits into an awed, beautiful expression. “That’s so romantic!”

He laughs and reaches up to adjust his hat. “Sure it is. Anyway, who’s the lucky girl?”

“Uh…” She blushes. “Herm.”

“Good choice.” He nods. “My advice is to get out and say it while you have the chance. Just… go right up to her and ask if she wants to have coffee, or whatever.”

She smiles. “Okay. Sounds good, Dad. Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

The decontamination room is small and crowded for its size. Kakyoin is there, of course, and the other Private Nijimura, as well as two women he doesn’t recognise – one in uniform, one out of it – and, of course, Stroheim.

“Well, people,” barks Stroheim, “what are you waiting for? The officers’ll help you put on your suits. We haven’t got all day, let’s move!”

Okuyasu nudges him, and points to the massive orange monstrosity on the rack beside him. He sighs. “All right then, show me. It can’t be harder than a scuba suit.”

Kakyoin looks round at him nervously. “I’ve never done anything like this,” he frowns. “How are you so confident?”

Jotaro shrugs. “The world’s going to shit, and you’re worried about an orange suit?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Kakyoin sighs and allows the other Private Nijimura – the blond one – to help him with the first of many under-layers. “It’s just a little weird, you know. Aliens, and dressing like a fucking astronaut and stuff. You can’t make up this shit.”

He nods half-heartedly and takes off his lab coat and sweater. They aren’t necessary.

“Uhh, Professor Kujo?” Scar-Nijimura taps him on the shoulder. “You gonna take the hat off?”

He takes a look at the orange monstrosity, then at the little white head-covering that lies beside it among all the other protective padding. “I guess I have to, huh?”

Nijimura nods. He takes off the hat.

Eventually, they’re all dressed up like fucking orange Lego men, and he has a chance to look back at the others. The lady who wasn’t in uniform looks back from her orange costume; the lady in uniform gives a smart salute.

“Ah,” mutters Kakyoin, his voice barely audible through the speakers of their headsets. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, miss –” He reaches out a hand, but tumbles forward slightly; the blond Nijimura catches him and sets him back on his feet.

“Careful, sir, takes a while to get used to these things.”

The military woman raises an eyebrow; the woman beside her, surprisingly, giggles.

“Looks like we’re all going to be stumbling around, then!” she says. “I’m new too. My name’s Anne. Professor Anne Smith, theoretical physicist. What’s your name?”

Kakyoin coughs nervously. “Ah, yes, I’m Professor Noriaki Kakyoin, linguist, and that’s –”

He gestures towards Jotaro, who raises a hand in greeting. “Professor Jotaro Kujo. Marine biologist.”

“Pleasure!” Anne winks. “I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.”

The lady in military uniform salutes with a frown. “It’s an honour, sirs. I’m Captain Lisa-Lisa. I see you two have already met the two Nijimuras.”

“Yo!” Scar-Nijimura waves. “You c’n call me Okuyasu!”

Blond Nijimura grunts. “Keicho.”

“I hate to ask,” says Jotaro, “but why are we three scientists the only ones dressing up here? Seems a bit unnecessary if you ask me.”

General Stroheim coughs from his corner of the room; somehow, he’s managed to kit himself out in an orange costume on his own. “Hate to break it to you, gentlemen – and lady – but the creatures only allow a certain number of humans in at one time. So you won’t be getting a guard detail, only me and Colonel Speedwagon, who’s waiting outside. These officers are just here to help with the putting on and off, so to speak.”

He sighs. Well, at least he won’t have to deal with Keicho’s dull-eyed stare for too long every eighteen hours.

 

* * *

 

The door slams, and suddenly he hears a little sniffle. She’s there, behind him, peeking in from behind the other door, tears running down her face, and he goes from angry to heartbroken in an instant.

“…How long have you been there?”

Another sniffle, and she chokes back a little sob. “You were shouting.”

He crouches down and hols his hands out to her, beckoning her into his arms. “It happens sometimes. It’s not the end of the world, we still love each other.”

She creeps forwards, then all at once flings herself into his chest. Her little hiccupping sobs fill the room. “You were f-f-fighting…”

“Shh, it’s all right. Grown-ups fight sometimes, okay? That doesn’t mean we hate each other. It doesn’t mean we hate you, either. It’s nothing to do with you, all right?”

“Uh-huh.” She wipes her nose.  “Is it g-gonna be okay, Papa?”

“It’s going to be fine.” He strokes her hair gently and kisses her on the cheek. “We just have to move on and say sorry to each other when we’re done.”

She clutches at his shoulder and nods. “O-okay.”

“Do you want to come with me and help me say sorry?”

She nods.

“Come on, then.” He picks her up and carries her in the direction that the other person stormed off to, holding her tight and close to his chest. “Let’s go say sorry.”


	3. cause i'd miss ya baby

The voyage to the Obelisk, with the three scientists, Stroheim, and their mystery passenger – who hasn’t said a word yet – is a little tense, and he frowns with the feeling that this could all be handled a lot better. The boat ride out to the bottom of the Obelisk, for example, could be cut in half if the camp hadn’t been set up in such an inconvenient position; unless there’s a reef there (it doesn’t look like it, from the way the waves fall), it should be easy to put a landing site a little closer down the coast line. Or they could even set up some sort of floating platform under the thing.

And yet, as the little boat’s grumbling engine carries them towards their destination, he finds himself a little excited by the idea of meeting an entirely new species, undocumented in the history of the world up to this point; he can see it in the others, too, even through the suits, the slight twitching nervousness that comes from the potential of discovery. Even Speedwagon seems a little jumpy – or maybe that’s just the motion of the waves.

And at last, they anchor under the Obelisk (he’s a little tempted to call it the Jellybean, but Stroheim probably wouldn’t approve). All five of them – not including the boat’s faceless captain – look up, almost in unison.

And they wait. A moment, or perhaps a few minutes, and Jotaro is starting to wonder how this all is actually going to work – will the aliens be coming down? Will they all be beamed up like Scotty? Is it going to hurt –

There is an imperceptible change in the bottom of the Obelisk. A line through the blackness, widening slowly to reveal an even greater blackness. It’s never occurred to him to think of _shades_ of black before. More fool him.

The orange-suited Speedwagon takes a tarp away from the large obstruction in the centre of the boat – it’s a rising platform whose railings have been neatly folded away to make more space. Looks like they’re going to the aliens, then. Stroheim gestures towards it with a grunt, and everyone gets on obediently; the railings go up, and the platform slowly begins to rise above the deck.

(He’s not scared of heights, per se. He’s just… cautious, these days. With the slight rocking of the boat beneath them, he’s a little worried that all of them, and their equipment, will be tossed down into the sea below. He’s not sure whether he could stay afloat in this monstrous outfit.)

The platform stops just below the opening in the Obelisk. They… have arrived?

 

* * *

 

She goes through a rebellious phase in her late teens, staying out late at night with the wrong crowd, stealing his car for impromptu joyrides, getting into the kind of trouble that he remembers, vaguely, from possibly the worst years of his life, before college came up and straightened him out.

“Look,” he tells her, quietly. “I get it. I did the same thing when I was your age. But –“

She rolls her eyes. “Here we go. I’m not a child, Dad. I’ve got a life. I can do what I want.”

“It’s all fun and games until someone gets arrested,” he frowns. “Trust me, it’s not easy to get a job with something like that on your personal record.”

“I’m not gonna get arrested, Dad, _god_.” She gets up and grabs her coat. “I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

“You’re _seventeen_ ,” he replies.

“Fuck you.”

 

* * *

 

“Well, boys,” Stroheim mutters through the speakers, “just do what I do. Colonel Speedwagon will follow behind.” With that, he grabs hold of an orange suitcase-thing and jumps off the platform –

Holy _shit_ that is a very bad idea, they are _multiple_ meters above the sea, he’s going to fall and _drown_ –

Stroheim looks down at him from his position on the inner wall of the obelisk. “Come on, we haven’t got all day,” he barks, as if he hasn’t just broken every known law of physics. As if he isn’t on a flat plane at a right-angle to the rest of them. Jotaro has never been particularly religious, but he has the overwhelming urge to either worship the aliens or burn Stroheim as a witch. Either is fine, as long as some part of the world starts making sense again.

Good grief. He swallows and tenses his body. If he _were_ religious, now would be about the right time for an act of faith: a prayer, perhaps, or a blood sacrifice. Maybe a ritual, too, just to be on the safe side.

He jumps.

And lands safely next to Stroheim, his feet making contact with the solid black surface, and his whole world has, quite literally, been turned on its axis. Somehow, he’s perpendicular to the boat, and if that isn’t enough to make someone feel weird, nothing is.

“Don’t throw up,” Stroheim tells him, “these suits are a pig to clean.”

He nods mutely and tries desperately to accustom himself to the unbelievable sense of _wrongness_ in this goddamn spaceship or whatever it is. He’s _horizontal_ , and he should be vertical. His head spins. At this point, he’s not sure whether that’s metaphorical or not.

(This is, in a word, completely different from scuba diving.)

There is a faint thud a little way away from him, and the woman called Anne stares at him from within her suit. Her face is pale and drawn, probably to the same extent as his is. She staggers a little in her suit, but he’s having enough trouble staying upright without making the effort to walk over and help her. They blink at each other in shared discomfort and unease for a while, and then –

Thud. Kakyoin lands neatly between them and looks around. He catches Jotaro’s eye first, and the feeling is even more intense this time: a kind of queasy ‘oh my god, I was never meant to access this dimension like this’. Kakyoin sways inside his suit, and this time Jotaro really does reach out with one hand to steady him. He’s starting to feel a little less woozy now, so catching onto and holding the redhead’s suited arm is only a struggle, and not a completely incomprehensible piece of Euclidian mathematics. He licks his lips, and manages to speak without also losing his breakfast (dinner? God, when did he last eat?). “You okay?”

Kakyoin nods and purses his lips together firmly. Ah.

“Stroheim said it’s not a good idea to throw up in these things, so you should probably try and keep it down, y’know.”

Another nod. For a while, the three scientists stand there, not moving, adjusting to the completely new experience of breaking the laws of the universe. There is one final thud, and the mysterious person known as Speedwagon lands just behind them. Jotaro can see an odd half-smile on the man’s scarred face.

“It gets easier the more you do it, trust me,” he tells them, looking as if he’s just going on a walk in the park rather than into the most mind-blowing fairground attraction on the planet. “Although it never does lose its strangeness.”

He frowns. “Er… right.”

“Come on, fellers,” calls Stroheim, from a little deeper into the tunnel, “let’s get a move on.”

They get a move on, into the black abyss.

Or, well –

Not totally black. In fact, there’s a white line ahead, expanding slowly into a white square, and then a white rectangle.

They move forward, into the blinding white abyss.

 

* * *

 

“…and that’s me, and that’s you, Daddy.” She points to the sets of scribbles authoritatively, and grins. “And that’s a bu’fly.”

“I see,” he nods. “Very nice.”

A voice calls from somewhere else inside the house – “Dinner!”

The little girl perks up. “I wanna eat!”

“Yeah,” he nods, taking her hand. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

They enter a large, square chamber, already with a few boxes and pieces of equipment set up for them. He notices the video camera, the decibel meter, the birdcage with an ugly-looking hawk-like thing (the space alien equivalent of a canary in a coal mine?), the computer and the various dials. And at the end… no wall, but some sort of barrier like a window into a bright, cloudy space. (How big is this place, anyway?)

Stroheim turns to the bird and taps the cage. “Keep an eye on this one, lads,” he tells them, “Pet Shop here is how we’ll know if anything goes wrong. If he keels over, stop what you’re doing and run, clear?”

Jotaro swallows. So they really are at risk here. Jesus.

(But what kind of a name is Pet Shop for a bird?)

“So…” Kakyoin clears his throats. “Where are… they?”

Stroheim checks the time on the computer. “They’re on their way. In about… three…”

“Minutes?”

“Two…” Stroheim holds up one orange-gloved finger. “One.”

_Boom._

Out of the mists on the other side of the white clear panel come –

(he should have brought his camera)

The things.

Like great hands crawling over an unseen landscape – like giant, floating baobab trees – like some sort of spider on stilt-legs, stepping slowly through the clouds of white –

They come. Slimy skin – smooth, like a dolphin or some other type of marine mammal – and shiny, as if wet –

He remembers his notepad, takes it out almost in a daze, and begins scribbling half-coherent nonsense that’ll give him a headache to decode later –

One, two, three – seven limbs in total, possibly, although the mists are making it hard to see – some sort of large construction on top, either a head or another body segment – something like an octopus, but no eyes that he can see –

(he writes the words ‘eye spots?’ in his notebook half-absentmindedly –)

There are two of them. At first, his irrational mind sees the two giant hands of one massive creature; then he realises that no creature, or at least very few of them, would have arms in two different colours.

And they are beautiful colours. The one on the left is tinged entirely in some bright and radiant emerald green; on the right, the colour is a darker royal blue, with faint but distinguishable white freckles dusting the entire surface of its skin. It’s like looking at a painting, or –

(‘chromatophores?’ he writes, underlining it in a darker hand.)

They come to a standstill, about the same distance away from the barrier as the humans are, but in the other direction.

“Wow,” breathes Kakyoin beside them. “They’re beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“Nah, they’re kinda ugly,” shrugs Anne, and both of them scowl at her. “What? They’re giant tentacle monsters. I’m not gonna…” She trails off and looks at Stroheim. “Well, anyway, I’m going to… try and figure out some of the physics going on in here. You two have fun droolin’ over the aliens.” She gives a casual wave and wanders off to poke at the wall.

“Well,” mutters Kakyoin. “I guess I have to… talk to them? Establish contact?”

Stroheim nods. “Get on with it.”

“Er… right.” Kakyoin clears his throat. “Okay. Um.” He holds up a small whiteboard in front of himself and writes something on it.

(Jotaro remembers he’s supposed to be taking notes, and guiltily adds the phrase ‘seven limbs’ to his page.)

Kakyoin holds up the board, which has the kanji 人間 on it. ‘Human’.

“ _Ningen_ ,” Kakyoin says, loudly and clearly, patting on his chest with one bulkily-gloved hand. “ _Ningen_.”

(Why speak Japanese here, of all places? It’s an English-speaking country.)

(On the other hand, he’s been known to accidently use the one when he should use the other, so perhaps Kakyoin is the same: the risks of being bilingual.)

The creatures sway from side to side for a moment; he can’t tell if they can actually see or hear Kakyoin (they need to do more vigorous tests following a stricter scientific process, he thinks; he makes a note to devise some way of discovering what they can and can’t sense).

Then –

One limb – a green one – folds itself up and snakes forward towards the barrier –

(he sketches, as best he can, each angle and joint as it presents itself, indicating with the best guesses he can make the creatures’ range of motion –)

And then the limb splits into – one, two, three… seven parts (holy shit, what the fuck?), and releases a circular rope of ink from what must be a siphon inside the limb. Jotaro stares.

For a few moments, the circle of black ink hangs there like a coffee stain, covered in little ridges and blobs (what on earth is the ink made of? What about the mist inside the chamber? How the fuck does it hang in the air like that?).

“What’s that?” barks Stroheim from the corner. Jotaro had forgotten there were other people in the chamber, what with how quiet everything had gotten. He blinks.

Kakyoin doesn’t look away from the gigantic creatures, his face a picture of awe and admiration. “I think…” he murmurs, just loud enough to be picked up by the mikes, “that’s the name of their species in their language.”

Jotaro stares at the slowly dissolving black circle. Holy fuckin’ shit. They just communicated with an alien species.

 

* * *

 

She bangs her little fists against her high chair. “Mo!”

“More, _please_ ,” he corrects. “Can you say please?”

“Papa!” she yells. “Papa, mo!”

He shakes his head. “No need to shout.”

She squirms in her seat, reaching out for the spoon impatiently. “ _Nata mo_!”

“ _Anata mo_?” he echoes. “But this isn’t my food. _Anata no tabemono_.”

“ _Papa no tab’mono_!” she insists. “No me food!”

“What if…” He holds the spoon beside his head. “What if it’s a rocket-ship? Whoosh!”

“Aah…” she says, before realising she’s been tricked. “No me food,” she grumbles, with a mouthful of mush. “ _Watash’ no tab’mon’ janai_.”

She learns more and more every day, doesn’t she?


	4. and i don't wanna miss a thing

“Hey, the air is breathable in here, isn’t it?” asks Kakyoin, suddenly. “It’s not toxic or anything?”

“Uh, yeah,” grunts Stroheim reluctantly, “but –”

It’s too late.

Kakyoin zips down the suit, ignoring the sudden shouts from Stroheim and Speedwagon, and begins to shimmy it down his body, bending forward to free his feet from their orange confines.

He’s slim, well-muscled, and Jotaro can’t help noticing how his green sweater-vest clings close to his body, or the way his plain brown slacks – very sensible – make his legs look that much longer. Kakyoin rolls up the long white sleeves of his shirt and pushes up his glasses, staring determinedly at the creatures; Jotaro watches him. (He’s only scientifically curious in whether Kakyoin keels over from exposure to a toxic atmosphere, of course.)

Kakyoin breathes, in, out. No sudden death so far, and – apropos of nothing – it’s pretty clear he has an excellent workout routine. Slowly, he steps forward towards the barrier, reaching out one hand towards the creatures. “ _Ohayō_ ,” he murmurs, looking up towards the nearest creature – the green one, as it happens. He stops. Looks almost reverently at the creature, at the fading coffee-stain of a word that’s still hanging in the white mist across the barrier, and –

Lays his hand on the barrier.

The green creature reaches out its limb once more; suddenly, a seven-pointed star of suckers slaps against the barrier, lining up with Kakyoin’s hand.

(Based on an estimate of Kakyoin’s hand size, the opening in the creatures’ limbs is about a meter across when fully extended; each individual radius must be about half that. If that’s their equivalent of a hand – fuck, they’re really big.)

He swallows and begins to unzip his own orange monstrosity. “I guess we don’t need the suits anymore, huh?”

Once he’s free of it, feeling much more normal in his black turtleneck and white slacks (next time he’s definitely wearing his hat), he goes to join Kakyoin at the barrier, resting one hand against it gently and watching the linguist stare in wonder at the green seven-branched limb in front of them. “Uh… hey. You think we should… name them or something?”

Kakyoin jumps. “Oh, Jotaro! I… didn’t see you there, I… was in my own world, I suppose. What did you say?”

Jotaro opens his mouth, but –

Thud. Another limb slaps wetly against the barrier, giving Jotaro the weirdest hi-five (hi-seven?) he’s had in his entire life. He starts back, but the creature doesn’t seem threatening, just…

“I know,” says Kakyoin. “It’s a little intimidating, but I think it means they like us.”

He nods, his mouth suddenly dry, and stares at the branching limb: this one is blue with white specks. It must belong to the other one. “I, uh… I was wondering if we should name them.”

“Oh, that’s a good point,” nods Kakyoin thoughtfully. “Obviously we wouldn’t be able to parse any names they give us into our language. Any ideas?”

He frowns. “…that one’s green, and that one’s blue. So ‘Green’ and ‘Blue’.”

Kakyoin rolls his eyes and rummages in his pocket. “As expected of a biologist – you’re much too straightforward when you come to naming things. What about…” He pulls out a pack of cards – Tarot, possibly – and arranges them in an impressive fan shape. “This is much better. Pick a card, any card.”

“I didn’t know linguistic professors were interested in magic,” he remarks. “And by the way, any profession which calls a fish a ‘sarcastic fringehead’ definitely has a sense of humour.”

“Is that so?” replies Kakyoin with a smile. “Well, it must be a special case, like my fascination with Tarot. What do you have?”

Number seventeen. “The Star.”

Kakyoin nods. “Ah, yes. You are likely to feel inspired, with a new hope and a sense that you are truly blessed in the universe. Unless it’s upside-down?”

“No.” He looks up at the creatures, waiting patiently for their verdict. “Well, the blue one has white freckles that are kind of like stars. So that one’s Star.”

“A good choice.” Kakyoin hands the deck to him. “My turn.” Slowly, he draws out one of the cards. “Hmm. Interesting.”

“What?”

Kakyoin holds up the card: number five. “The Hierophant. Apparently, we’re going to learn a lot from them, and being traditional will be the best way forward.”

“What the fuck is traditional about communicating with twenty-metre-tall aliens, huh?”

Kakyoin shrugs. “Well, it’s entirely possible that the card isn’t relevant to this situation, but to something else. My love life, for example.”

Hmm. Well, probably best not to over-analyse that little comment. “…whatever.” He gestures towards the green one. “You’re not gonna give such a big name to the other one when the blue one’s called Star, though?”

Kakyoin rolls his eyes. “All right, Jotaro, I’ll go with your method for that one. The green one is ‘Green’. Happy now?”

“Sure,” he shrugs. “Green and Star. A bigger hit than… I dunno, Bert and Ernie, or something.”

“Dammit, Jotaro,” frowns Kakyoin, putting his hand on his forehead, “those would have been the perfect names, why didn’t I think of that?”

“This is better,” he decides. “More… personal, somehow.”

(He hasn’t even taken any notes on this. What a terrible excuse for a biologist he is.)

 

* * *

 

“Papa,” she whimpers, “I wee-weed in the bed.”

He sighs and looks back at his partner, who’s looking understandably frustrated. “She wet the bed,” he explains. “It’s all right, I’ll go.”

The other person grunts. He turns back to his little girl and tries to smile encouragingly while subtly adjusting his hastily thrown-on boxers. She doesn’t look like she heard them, at least; she’s probably too distressed by the bed-wetting incident to notice.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he tells her. “Accidents happen.”

“I c-c-couldn’t help it…”

“It’s all right,” he repeats, taking her hand and following her to her room. “It’s all right.”

 

* * *

 

“What the fuck,” growls Stroheim at the two of them in the decontamination chamber, “was that? You took off your suit, you touched the barrier, and you didn’t even say ‘hello’. What kind of linguist are you?”

“It’s fine. I’m going to teach them to write,” says Kakyoin confidently.

Stroheim looks taken aback. “Won’t it be more complicated to give them more to learn?”

“Not at all, my dear Stroheim,” Kakyoin replies. “Actually, it will increase the speed at which we will be able to learn each other’s language. We’ll be able to have something in common – a shared system, if you will. As long as you can give me the video of what they write, I should be able to decode their language fairly easily.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” nods Kakyoin. “Unfortunately, since I started with kanji, we’ll probably have to stick with that… There’s no way I can confuse them by introducing English.” He sighs. “Well, I was working in the moment.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” splutters Stroheim. “You’re saying you can communicate with them – but it won’t even be in English?”

“It was a spur-of-the moment decision!” retorts Kakyoin hotly. “I went with what felt natural to me!”

Stroheim scowls. “Then none of the rest of us will be able to understand you. You could be plotting with them for all we know. All our translators are working in the comms room, we don’t have any to spare to indulge you and your language-learning.”

“Um…” Jotaro raises a hand. “Actually, I speak Japanese. And I can read the kanji and all. So… I could help, I guess.”

Stroheim looks up at him thoughtfully. “Well, what do you know,” he mutters. “You’re in luck, Kakyoin. Looks like having a marine biologist along wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

“I do still have my own research to do on the creatures,” Jotaro reminds him. “So I’d benefit from spending more time in there anyway for study. But I can do that at the same time – it’ll give me a chance to see more of how their anatomy works, for one thing.”

“Alright, fine, goddamn you.” Stroheim gets up with a sigh. “You can teach them Japanese. But only if you both report back to me – separately – on what you’ve been teaching them. I don’t want any collusion in my camp, especially not with beings who could, potentially, be our enemies.”

“Understood,” replies Kakyoin. “I’ll make sure to give you a translated wordlist for approval beforehand: that way you can see what we’re saying, as well.”

Somewhere behind them, the physicist Anne blows chunks into the nearest waste bucket.

 

* * *

 

“I hate you!” she screams. “I hate you!”

“Sweetheart –”

“You’re not my real dad!” She spins towards him, her green-and-blue plaits flying out in every direction. “Neither of you are –”

She stops and swallows. “You’re not my real dad,” she repeats, at last.

 

* * *

 

Okuyasu’s shoulders drop. “So… you’re sayin’ you don’t need me an’ Keicho no more? And Captain Lisa-Lisa?”

Stroheim shrugs. “Blame Professor Kakyoin,” he grunts. “He decided it wasn’t worth it, apparently.”

“So what do we do now?” asks Lisa-Lisa. “Personally, I’m happy not to do this anymore, but what are your orders?”

“Oh, Major Stroheim,” Okuyasu bursts out, “permission to go help out Josu—I mean Doctor Higashita in the infirmary? He mentioned he might be needin’ an extra hand.”

“Permission granted.” Stroheim sighs. “In that case, Private Keicho, you can go to Corporal Kira down in munitions, and Captain… you have your own sector to look after, so go back to them and take some of the load off Lieutenant Quatro’s shoulders.”

“Understood, sir,” replies Captain Lisa-Lisa with a salute. “I’ll be awaiting your orders.”

Keicho just grunts.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Dad,” she says, dropping her backpack down on the floor. “I’m back.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“It was okay,” she nods. At this age, that’s a glowing recommendation, especially for a field trip. “There were some pretty cool models in the museum.”

“What kind?”

“You know,” she mumbles, “the usual. Mammoths and shit. Dinosaurs. Some newer stuff as well.”

“Sounds great.”

She rolls her eyes and turns on the TV.

 

* * *

 

Now that they’ve met the creatures, it doesn’t take long to settle into the little office on the side of the comms room that has been set up for the study of the creatures and their technology. It’s surprisingly state-of-the-art, with exceptionally modern desktop computers that work much better than Jotaro’s cranky old laptop. (Not that he really needs much in the way of tech, to be honest, but he might as well take advantage of the military throwing money at the alien problem.)

“So, Professor Kujo,” Stroheim starts, folding his arms and giving him a one-eyed stare. “Please tell me you, at least, have something to show for that disaster of a first contact other than a new mission to teach them Japanese.”

“I have a little, but…” Jotaro looks down at his notes and back up again. “They would probably belong to the mollusc family, if I had to put a guess in. However, I’m not sure that a species from outside our planet would belong to any genus that evolved on Earth. If anything, it’s very likely a case of parallel evolutionary tracks resulting in similar organisms.”

“Molluscs?” With a scoff, Stroheim turns away. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am perfectly serious, General Stroheim,” he replies calmly. “And may I remind you that the mollusc family also includes shrimps, lobsters, and cuttlefish. But…”

Stroheim turns his head and glares at him. “But what?”

 He scratches behind his ear. “I’m just wondering why you asked me to do this. My field of specialty is in echinoderms, and these are _clearly_ some form of cephalopods.”

“You could’ve told us that when we hired you,” frowns Stroheim, “and this whole process would’ve gone a lot faster.”

Jotaro sighs. “Did you seriously expect me to identify a foreign species from just a blurry photo of what might or might not have been a limb? _Please_.”

Stroheim scowls.

“Cephalopods?” Kakyoin looks up from his desk. “Like squid and octopus?”

“They’re similar to octopodes from what I’ve seen, yes,” admits Jotaro, “although I can’t base an authoritative definition of the species after one meeting with just two individuals. Also, have you ever seen an octopus that can split its arm into seven smaller arms like that?”

“You’re the marine biologist,” grumbles Stroheim. “If anyone here has seen something like that, you have.”

“Well, I haven’t,” he grunts. “No one has.”

Kakyoin rolls his eyes and looks back at his papers. “You can say that again. No one has ever seen anything like these guys.”

He doesn’t bother pointing out that it’s entirely possible that all of them are female.

 

* * *

 

She looks up from her phone, struck by a sudden thought.

“Hey Dad, you seen _Finding Dory_ yet? I think you’d like it.”

“That the _Finding Nemo_ sequel?” He shrugs. “Never saw the first one.”

“You _what_.” She puts down her phone and turns towards him in disbelief. “Dad, you gotta see _Finding Nemo_ if you like fish. It’s practically required.”

“Isn’t it a kid’s movie?”

“Well, yeah, but…” She shakes her head. “Anyway, one of the guys in _Finding Dory_ reminds me of you, kind of.”

“Oh yeah?”

She grins. “Yeah. But you have to watch it and guess which one.”

“Then I guess I have to watch _Finding Nemo_ first.”

“Yeah,” she smirks. “You gotta.”

 

* * *

 

“Well, boys,” announces Stroheim, “only one thing remains to be done with these creatures before we meet them again.”

He looks up. “What’s that?”

“We gotta give the species a name, of course.” Stroheim points to Kakyoin, already working on wordlists to teach the creatures. “Kakyoin! You’re good with words! Any ideas?”

Kakyoin looks up and blinks. “Um. Well… if an octopus has eight legs, then we should call a member of this species a septapus.”

Jotaro rolls his eyes. “And what’s the plural of septapus? Everyone would get confused about that, just like they do with octopodes.”

Kakyoin snorts. “If it’s any consolation, you’re using the correct plural, based on the Greek root word. Not many people would.”

“I should hope I do, being a marine biologist and all.” he grunts. “Anyway, people would get that confused. What about something a little less derivative of an already existing species, such as… Heptapods.”

“That’s just a slightly different version of the same name,” grumbles Kakyoin.

“Heptapods,” murmurs Stroheim thoughtfully, ignoring Kakyoin’s black look. “Not bad. I like it, Kujo. Let’s call them Heptapods.”

Jotaro smirks at Kakyoin smugly; Kakyoin just sticks out his tongue.

 

* * *

 

“Did you see it?” she asks.

“I am _not_ Marlin.”

She grins. “Nah, it’s not him I was talking about. You’re totally Hank.”

“Very funny,” he says, rolling his eyes. “And who’s Marlin?”

She blinks innocently. “Wait, what were we talking about? I forgot.”

“Yeah, yeah, hilarious, I get it now,” he grumbles. She sticks out her tongue.


	5. cause even when i dream of you

“This writing is amazing,” murmurs Kakyoin, during their lunch break. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Mm?”

Kakyoin smiles widely into his glass of water. “It’s… spectacular,” he admits. “I’ve never seen a circular script. How on earth do they know the size of the sentence in advance, do you think?”

He shrugs. “Good siphon control. Personally, I’d like to know what that ink’s made of.”

“Oh, yes! Kakyoin’s eyes light up. “That’s the best part! It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

“I hate to break it to you, Kakyoin, but octopodes squirt their ink from an opening which is also used for bodily waste.”

Kakyoin raises an eyebrow. “So… these guys are literally talking out of their asses?”

“You could say that, yes,” grins Jotaro. “It may not be the same here, of course, but based on the pods’ similarity with cephalopods in general I’d say there’s a pretty good chance of it.”

“Oh, I love hearing little facts like that,” sighs Kakyoin happily. “They just completely enrich my view of the world.”

“Cephalopod asses?”

Kakyoin rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

 

* * *

 

“Do your chores.”

“But daaaaad!”

“Chores or no dessert, your choice.”

She pouts but gets up from the table and starts cleaning up the dishes. He hears a small mutter from under her breath.

“What was that?”

“ _Daikirai_ …”

“What was that, young lady?”

“You heard me,” she mutters.

“Say that again to my face.”

“Fine.” She stomps up and places herself in front of him, folding her arms and enunciating each syllable. “ _Dai. Ki. Rai_. Asshole.”

“Don’t you dare,” he scowls. “Don’t you dare say you hate me. I swear –”

She flips him the bird and turns on her heels. “Asshole.”

“You come back here –"

 

* * *

 

In the next session, Jotaro brings his camera, as he should have done the first time. There’s not much time to use it, however, as Kakyoin almost immediately gets him involved in the Heptapod education process – writing sentences while Kakyoin himself moves around a ball and a box for some reason.

“ _Bōru wa hako no ue ni arimasu_.” ‘The ball is _on_ the box.’

“ _Bōru wa hako no naka ni arimasu_.” ‘The ball is _in_ the box.’

“ _Bōru wa_ –”

“Are you just going to play around with that goddamn box and ball for the whole session?” shouts Stroheim irritably. “We don’t have time for this shit!”

“Trust me, Stroheim,” calls back Kakyoin irritably, “this is the best way to teach them the language and to learn theirs. We have to start small, remember? I told you about this! You approved the wordlist!”

“Because I thought you’d get through it faster!”

Kakyoin rolls his eyes and pushes up his glasses. “Please, Stroheim, it’s the first day. Haven’t you ever learned a language? It takes _years._ ”

Stroheim scowls. “Well, we don’t have years,” he grunts. “We’ve got to work out what the ‘pods want before they kill us all.”

Kakyoin sighs. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

(Jotaro suddenly remembers he could have been taking pictures of the creatures instead of paying attention to this little spat. But it’s too late – Kakyoin is already turning back to the box and the ball and repeating the sentence that he had been about to say loudly and clearly for Jotaro to write down.

“ _Bōru wa hako no soto ni arimasu_ …”

And so begins a long, arduous process of teaching the ‘pods Japanese. Sometimes, Anne is there, taking measurements for whatever it is she’s trying to study; other times, people in black suits and sunglasses, watching them communicate with the creatures; occasionally, Lisa-Lisa or another military type. And always, in the back of the room, watching the monitors, Stroheim and Speedwagon, watching them in silence or occasionally whispering to each other. Stroheim in particular tends to direct a lot of sceptical looks in their direction, particularly when it seems they are repeating the same basic phrases over and over again.

But… well, he gets a good few chances to study the creatures for himself. And even when Kakyoin pulls him in for help with demonstrations – which happens more often than not – he finds himself not minding too much. It’s… fun, almost, even though having to constantly switch between Japanese, English, and the ‘pod language means he’s usually confused in all three languages.

It’s probably something to do with Kakyoin’s charisma. He is… magnetic, somehow, a fascinating mystery; every now and again, he catches Jotaro’s eye and smiles, and Jotaro can’t help but be tempted to allow himself to smile in return. To see that smile again, to come closer, to get to know him better –

It’s the charisma.

 

* * *

 

“Papa, Papa, do my hair like Sailor Moon!” she begs, clinging to his legs as tight as she can. “Pleeeeease! Pretty please!”

“All right, all right,” he laughs, running a hand through his own hair. “Get the hairbrush and the ties for me and I’ll see what I can do.”

She dashes off like a bullet – “Use your walking feet inside the house, sweetheart” – and returns almost as quickly, dropping onto a tall stool and practically bouncing up and down with excitement. “I’m gonna look so cool! I’m gonna look like Chun-Li an’ Sailor Moon an’ – an’ Minnie Mouse! I’m gonna save the world!”

He laughs and stations himself behind her, brushing her long green-and-blue into some semblance of tidiness. “You sure are,” he tells her. “You sure are.”

 

* * *

 

He finds very quickly that mealtimes, as well as being the only time when he’s consistently thinking in English, are the best times to learn about his new colleagues. Not that he has much choice when both Anne and Kakyoin are a lot more talkative than he is.

(Not that that’s saying much, but still.)

He doesn’t _intentionally_ overhear their conversations.

“I told you already, Anne,” grumbles Kakyoin, rolling his eyes, “I’m as gay as the Fourth of fucking July. I’m not interested in your friend Suzi from work.”

Anne pouts. “Come on, Kakyoin, work with me here. If you won’t date Suzi, then won’t you at least consider Caesar?”

“Depends… is he handsome?”

Anne nods vigorously. “He’s blond, with the prettiest eyes you ever saw on a man. He’s a chemist – he’ll be able to cook you up a little love potion anytime.” She winks.

“The prettiest eyes?” Kakyoin scoffs and takes a sip of water. “I highly doubt that. I know someone with exceptional eyes who’s ten times as handsome as this Caesar guy.”

“Who, who?”

Kakyoin taps his fork against the plate irritably. “Not telling,” he says. “Now, go and bother someone else, will you?”

Anne pouts but turns to where Jotaro is trying to mind his own business and avoid any unnecessary conversation. No such luck; she has a look in her eye like she wants to delve into his deepest darkest secrets in the time it takes to eat lunch.

“What about you, Kujo?” she asks, playfully. “You single?”

“None of your business.”

“That means yes,” trills Anne teasingly. “Don’t worry, Love-Professor Anne will sort you out.”

“Don’t you have…” he hesitates, “friends or some shit to talk to?”

“They’re all in different time-zones, it’s such a bore.” She kicks her legs. “Are you into blonds?”

“Not really,” he replies, getting up and clearing his plate away. “Excuse me.”

 “Aww, you’re no fun!”

He ignores her and heads off to do some more research on Heptapod biology.

 

* * *

 

“Herm, this is my dad… Dad, you know Herm, right?”

He looks up from the chopping board and nods at the tall girl. “I think we’ve met.”

“Yeah.” ‘Herm’ tosses her dreadlocks with a smile. “I guess I’ll be seein’ a lot more of you guys from now on, huh?”

“If that’s what you want.” He puts down the knife, trying to look a little less threatening. “Are you staying for dinner, Hermes?”

His girl shakes her head. “We’re going out.”

“It’s not illegal this time?” he asks.

“No, Dad, we’re eating at a restaurant.” She holds up her hand to her heart. “I promise.”

“Hm.” Well, she can make her own choices; she’s an adult now, after all, and once she graduates will be moving on to university. If it is illegal, he can at least say with a clear conscience that he doesn’t know about it. “Just make sure to pay the bill.”

“I will.”

Hermes nudges her. “I thought we agreed _I_ was gonna pay this time?”

“Well, whatever.” She throws her jacket over her shoulder and turns to go. “We can figure it out later. See ya, Dad.”

“See you. Have fun, and don’t get back too late.”

“We won’t, sir,” smiles Hermes. “I’ll bring your daughter home by midnight.”

Well, at least one of them is responsible.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take very long for Kakyoin’s desk to be covered in printouts of ink circles, each paper decorated all over with Kakyoin’s meticulous handwriting in both English and Japanese; by the end of the first week, he’s practically drowning in them, and has started sticking them around Jotaro’s desk as well. Jotaro doesn’t mind; he doesn’t need much space anyway.

“I was wondering about whether there’s more to the pods that we haven’t seen,” he says, quietly. “Do you think we could ask one of them to come closer to the window for us? Maybe turn around a little bit?”

“Mm.” Kakyoin flops down in the seat next to him and sighs. “I’m not sure whether we have the language for that yet. The end goal is to find out why they’re here, after all, not to get them to do tricks.”

“Maybe if we demonstrate what we want them to do.”

“I don’t know whether they’d be able to apply our demonstration to themselves in any meaningful way,” mutters Kakyoin. “They could all be one giant tentacle.”

“Unlikely,” he replies. “With an organism that big, there’s probably some sort of central nervous system, or maybe two if they’re structured like octopodes.”

“Hmm…” Kakyoin leans his head on his hand and groans. “I’m just… not getting anywhere with this. Do you think they’re too different from us? So alien that we’ll never be able to get on the same plane as them?”

He shrugs. “They’re physical creatures. That means they have some sort of similarity with us. We just have to figure out the big stuff.”

Kakyoin sighs. “There’s just… no logical order to any of these circles,” he admits. “You can read them: there’s no semblance of syntax, barely any similarity between each shape, and the same shape never appears in the same place in the circle. They don’t understand ‘yesterday’ and ‘tomorrow’, and they don’t seem to have tenses at all… It’s almost as if…”

“As if?” Jotaro looks at Kakyoin, whose face has suddenly gone blank. “As if what?”

“I…” Kakyoin blinks. “Oh. I get it. I’ve been thinking too linearly.” He grabs a pencil and points to the nearest circle: Jotaro recognises the sentence ‘Noriaki gives Jotaro the ball’. “What’s the one thing that all these circles have in common?”

He frowns. “Uhh… they’re circular?”

“They were all made immediately, with no time elapsing between the formation of the beginning and the end.”

“What?”

Kakyoin makes a gesture with his hand: closing his fist, and then opening it like one of the Heptapod’s arms. “The sentence or phrase is constructed beforehand, and then it all comes out at once, don’t you see?”

“…No.” Jotaro stares at the circle. “So, the ‘pods write their sentences all at once. So what?”

“Time, Jotaro!” Kakyoin grins at him jubilantly. “The key is time!”

He folds his arms. “I’m not following.”

“Language can change our perception of the world, Jotaro. You know Japanese: there are puns you can make with the kanji system that would be completely incomprehensible in English. If I call you a ‘horse-deer’ in English, that doesn’t have the same impact as calling you an ass, but in Japanese, it’s perfectly normal to call someone a ‘baka’.” Kakyoin waves his hands around in excitement. “Well, the same thing is happening here.”

“…calling me an ass and an idiot?”

“Not _that_.” Kakyoin hits the piece of paper firmly. “This. The pod’s language changes their perception of time. They don’t have today and tomorrow in their language, because to them, everything happens at once. Their writing has made them that way, don’t you see?”

He tips his head to stare at the circle. “So… they have no concept of time because their writing made their brains different.”

Kakyoin grins. “Exactly, Jotaro. With this, I can finally make some headway in these translations – I can come up with a different approach. We might even be able to make some progress finally.”

“…Oh.” It’s brilliant and confusing and unbelievable, and he’s amazed that Kakyoin managed to figure that out from some blobby clouds of ink. “Kakyoin, you’re a genius.”

Kakyoin smirks. “Well, I try.”

 

* * *

 

“Pops…” She sits down. “I’m kind of, uh…”

For the love of god, it better not be a teen pregnancy. She’s only just fifteen, for goodness’ sake. He shifts forward in his chair, closer to her.

“I’m kind of a lesbian,” she mutters.

“Oh,” he says. “All right. Thanks for letting me know.”

She rubs the back of her neck. “Yeah, sure, whatever. It’s just that… you know… I don’t want you to be surprised if I bring a girl home or somethin’.”

He shrugs. “I don’t think either of us would have been. Speaking of which, have you told –”

“I… kind of wanted to tell you first.” A duck of her head. “I need to work myself up to facing…”

“Sweetheart, why would either of us judge you?” He reaches forward and takes her hands. “You know we both love and support you.”

“It’s just…” She frowns. “You know. The… intimidation factor.”

“I know,” he admits. “It’s hard to talk about this kind of stuff with your parents, isn’t it? But you know, as long as you’re happy, we’re happy. Honestly, we’re a lot more worried about the crowd you’ve got yourself into. Some of them seem a little… dangerous.”

“Come on, Pops, Narcy’s not that bad…” She sighs and takes her hands away from his. “Well, anyway. That’s not the issue here.”

“It’ll be fine,” he reassures her. “I’m on your side, you know.”

“All right,” she nods. “Can you… help me?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he smiles. “We can go together.”

“Thanks, Pops.”

(He’ll do anything for his little girl. For _their_ little girl. Ever since she came into their lives, he can’t help but do everything he can for her. It’s a weakness he’s not afraid to admit, now that he’s older and wiser; he wouldn’t change her for the world.)


	6. the sweetest dream will never do

“So, Kujo. I insist you tell me about your love life. Are you, or are you not, available for me to match up with someone? Are you married?” Anne leans forward onto the table across from him; he backs away a little.

“Divorced,” he mutters.

“Ah,” replies Anne knowingly. Then, the inevitable – “Wait, aren’t you a little young for that?”

“None of your business,” he groans.

Anne frowns. “So… got any kids?”

“…um.” He clears his throat; suddenly, it feels a little constricted. “No.”

She twirls a lock of her hair in her hand. “Don’t suppose you’d be interested in a young, attractive, currently available professor of theoretical physics, would you?”

“Who?” He looks around, just in time to see Kakyoin coming up to their table. “There’s no one here like that.”

Anne rolls her eyes. “I was talking about myself, dumbass.”

“Oh,” he grunts. “Then no.”

“Kakyoin, can’t you help convince Kujo here to date me?” she whines.

Kakyoin sits down next to him, looking a little taken aback. “Erm… I think he’s old enough to make his own life choices.”

“I barely know you,” confirms Jotaro. “And you’re not my type.”

Anne pouts. “Then tell me your type, Kujo, and I’ll set you up with someone.”

“Please don’t,” he mutters. “I really don’t know what my type is myself.”

“Eh? What about your ex?”

“My ex-wife,” says Jotaro firmly, “is not my type. And nor am I hers.”

“You’re so damn cagey, Kujo,” sighs Anne. “I give up.”

With that, she gets up and flounces off to join another table. He lets out a sigh of relief and shrugs at Kakyoin. “Sorry. She’s been hounding me about this for ages.”

“Oh, me too,” replies Kakyoin wearily. “She keeps asking me about my previous boyfriends, as if she can work out what my ‘type’ is by stalking N’Doul and Hol on Facebook. It’s not going to work, they’re just too different.”

He nods. “The last thing I want is another one like Marina.”

“Marina, huh?” Kakyoin pokes at him. “You know what that name means, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m aware. Yes, it is very ironic. No, I don’t specifically date women with ocean-themed names. It was bad enough the first time.”

Kakyoin nods sympathetically. “Bad divorce?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he grunts. “We weren’t even married for a year.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he mutters. “Better off without her.”

“Amen to that,” replies Kakyoin. “If I never see Hol again it’ll be too soon.”

“Bad?”

Kakyoin snorts. “He’s a fucking cowboy, in all the senses of the word. And it turns out he was heterosexual all along.”

“So both our exes turn out to have been into women,” he grins.

“You think we should introduce them?”  Kakyoin winks at him and smiles. “Sounds like they deserve each other.”

 

* * *

 

She looks up. “Oh, Dad. Didn’t see you come in there.”

“Yeah.” He sits down by her. “What’s the verdict?”

“Umm.” She rubs at her shoulder. “Where’s –”

“On the way.” He folds his hands in his lap. “I suppose you want to wait?”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I’d like you both to hear it.”

He nods. “What about Hermes? Is she on her way, as well?”

She bites her lip. “I… don’t want her to know. I want…” She swallows. “I want to feel normal with her, at least.”

“Is it that bad?”

She looks up again, her face a picture of agony. “I don’t wanna die, Dad! I don’t wanna die!”

She’s still eighteen.

 

* * *

 

He talks to some of the scientists at the other sites regularly; there’s no other marine biologists among them, but a fair few in other areas – zoologists, in particular, seem pretty common. Not that he really gets on with many of those who do share his subject, of course; Professor Brando is the perfect example of that. Thank god they don’t have to work with _him_.

There are one or two he likes: an Egyptian doctor of thermodynamics, Avdol; a remarkably stupid French physicist, Polnareff; an older American mathematician who insists on being called Joseph; even a Japanese asshole of an astronomer named Rohan. They speak of the pods, mostly, and of how their research is progressing. So far, no one else seems to have figured out the thing about time; or perhaps they’re keeping it close to their chests like Kakyoin insisted they do.

Whether they’re being secretive or not, of course, he still learns some useful titbits. The fact that each ‘pod has its own unique colour and pattern, for example (red and black in Egypt, silver and gold in Europe, purple and orange on the other side of the country, even a pure white one in Japan. None of them are the same blue-with-white-spots as Star, the one he thinks of as _his_ pod).

And… there’s whispers. Rumours.

“Oh, my girlfriend Reimi was trapped in the riots in…”

“A man I know, Bruno, was arrested – by ‘is own boyfriend, too –”

“Don’t mention it to him, but my esteemed associate Vanilla is… well, you know. He’s not a fan of the Heptapods.”

“My co-worker, Loggins, his shop got set on fire…”

“I’ve heard they’re stockpiling missiles in…”

“My boss – confidentially speaking – says we’re on the brink of –”

“I don’t know whether _they’ll_ say what our superiors want to hear...”

There are very few other linguists, Jotaro notices, and none so fascinatingly charismatic as Kakyoin. It must be some sort of talent.

 

* * *

 

She is a beautiful teenager, with a full, pouting mouth and startlingly blue eyes. She hasn’t changed the colour scheme of her hair, even when it starts to fall out, even when her sickness is painfully obvious to even the most casual of observers. When she goes completely bald, she borrows his hat for a while, and he lets her. Then she asks him to bring a blue-and-green scarf from her wardrobe, so she can wrap it around her head like a turban, but when she looks in the mirror, she cries and cries and cries –

 

* * *

 

It’s early morning again; he has woken up and can’t get back to sleep, and it’s going to be another several hours before they see the creatures. There’s not even coffee ready in the canteen yet. He’s too tired to focus on the work, either; so, he wanders outside for a stroll around the camp in the half-darkness alleviated only by harsh military LEDs keeping the camp awake.

A familiar twirl of red hair stands out in the shadows: he moves towards it, his lab coat flowing silently behind him.

Kakyoin is leaning on a Jeep parked by the shore, looking out towards the Obelisk thoughtfully. Without thinking about it, Jotaro goes to lean beside him, folding his arms and staring at the massive black shape in the distance. For a while, neither of them says a word, gazing at the overshadowed sea as the sun begins to rise over the horizon. A shift. Kakyoin pushes up his glasses.

“You religious, Jotaro?”

“Me? Not really.”

“Mm.” Kakyoin twirls a lock of his hair in his hand. “Me neither. But sometimes I… I wonder if there really is someone out there, controlling our lives.”

“The pods?”

“Well, I don’t know. Someone, anyway.” Kakyoin sighs. “At any rate they’re so advanced they might as well be gods, compared to us. Such control… Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“Mm.” He glances at Kakyoin out of the corner of his eye: long nose, wide mouth, clear violet eyes almost hidden behind those rectangular glasses. Strange how much he doesn’t want to look away.

Kakyoin’s gaze flicks back towards him, and he blinks, trying to pretend he wasn’t staring; at any rate, Kakyoin doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he looks into Jotaro’s eyes curiously, an odd expression on his face.

“Have you ever wondered…” he begins, and then ducks his head away again, hiding under his long spiral of red hair. “Do you believe in fate?”

“I…” Jotaro thinks about it. Thinks about a little girl with butterflies in her hair and a bracelet around her wrist. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Some things are probably gonna happen no matter what you do. That’s just how life is.”

“Mm.” Kakyoin looks out again, out towards the black curve in the sky. “If you could see your life from beginning to end… what would you do?”

“I’d…” He admires the way the golden morning light shines on Kakyoin’s face, softly accentuating his cheekbones. “I’d spend more time with… the people I cherish.”

Kakyoin looks back at him with a smile. “Yes,” he murmurs, “I would too.”

 

* * *

 

She dies slowly, quietly, her last hoarse breaths rasping out into the cool clinical air of the hospital. When there is nothing left that can be done, he drops his head onto her chest and sobs like a child, feeling her limp hand cooling with every moment. Beside him, the other one is sobbing as well, draping themselves over the corpse’s abdomen.

He lifts her skinny hand to his cheek and feels something jingle. The other person lays a hand on his shoulder.

“She would’ve wanted –” they choke back another sob – “she would’ve wanted you to have it, I think.”

He nods; wordlessly, he unfastens the metal bracelet with her name on it and, barely able to see through his tears, fastens it around his own wrist.

The other person takes his hand when he is done, and they sit clasping at each other’s fingers, watching the nurse who comes in to lay a blanket over his baby girl.

“We couldn’t do anything,” the other person murmurs, “I wish…”

He nods, and stares down at the white sheets. He hadn’t often said much to her, but… he needs to, now. He can’t leave her here, cold and alone, without saying something to her. He reaches out for her hand again, and feels the two loves of his life on either side, one living, one –

“I always…” He can’t continue, for a moment; his words stick in his throat, and only tears come out. “I always cherished you,” he says, at last. She doesn’t reply; she never will.

 

* * *

 

(Star is waiting in his room. He is about to leave and get breakfast, but the blue and white-speckled alien stands there in the corner, clicking and buzzing expectantly, its limbs looking clearer and more real than he’s ever seen them, and – it’s something to do with the future, something’s going to happen, but he has no idea what –)

 

Kakyoin nods at him tiredly as he comes for his morning coffee. “Morning. I had the weirdest dream last night. There was a Heptapod in my quarters, but it was way too small compared to the real thing.”

“Wait, you had that dream, too?” Jotaro frowns. “I dreamed that Star came to me for some reason. I think it has something to do with some… other dreams I’ve been having.”

Kakyoin looks thoughtful. “I had Green,” he says. “But, by any chance… do you have those dreams about… the girl?”

“The girl,” he nods. “With blue and green hair, right? I don’t know who she is, but I think she’s important.”

“I…” Kakyoin stares into Jotaro’s eyes. “I was… you are… but that’s not possible. How can we both have the same dreams about this mystery girl?”

“I have no idea,” he admits. “But… it’s something to do with the pods, somehow.”

Kakyoin swallows. “You… saw the same thing that I saw, didn’t you? About… how her life will end up. She’s going to…”

“We don’t know that for sure. It’s just a dream.”

“But… it doesn’t make sense.” With a frown, Kakyoin takes out his notes. “Why is it important now?”

“Maybe it isn’t,” he mutters. “But it might be, later. They don’t think like us, right? So they probably place importance on different stuff.”

“I…” Kakyoin takes a sip of coffee. “Well, we’ll see when we speak to them today, I suppose. I have a little something that might help us.”

“What?”

A knowing smile. “You’ll see,” promises Kakyoin. “I think it’s rather clever, myself.”

 

* * *

 

“Dad, can you help me with my homework?”

“Sure. What is it?”

She points to her paper. “What’s that theory of, like, how language affects the way you think? The… thingamabob hypothesis.”

“Um…” He scratches his chin. “That’s not really my area of expertise. Did you ask –”

She rolls her eyes. “But _you’re_ here.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about this sort of stuff,” he mutters. “Go ask.”

 

* * *

 

Kakyoin points at his computer screen, which is running a simulated version of a Heptapod’s writing – the sentence ‘Star is a Heptapod’.

“It took me a few days,” he smiles, “but I managed to code a simple algorithm which can form Heptapod phrases, based on the grammar I’ve been able to glean and given the words we already know. I think we should be able to start asking the real questions soon enough.”

“Fantastic, Professor,” nods Stroheim. “This’ll give us a one-up on the other sites. Shall we test it out today?”

Kakyoin shrugs. “I don’t see why not. Though it may be a little buggy still, of course… I’m not a dedicated coder, just a hobbyist really…”

“It doesn’t matter.” Stroheim gets up and marches towards the door, looking pleased. “I’ll get you a big screen to project it onto right away.”

On the way to the Obelisk, they see another boat coming back the other way, with a group of people in orange suits: he recognises Keicho and Okuyasu, and there’s another, older man he doesn’t recognise. A man with white hair that is striped with black, combed back against his head neatly. Jotaro shivers: for some reason, it feels as though he’s just walked over his own grave.

And then they’re in the meeting chamber once again, and Kakyoin selects a series of kanji into the program, and everyone – Jotaro, Stroheim, Speedwagon, and that damn Anne again – stares at the TV screen that has been set up while the black shapes arrange themselves.

_Why pods here?_

The pods sway in unison for a moment. Then Star reaches forward carefully and puts forth the answer.

_Use weapon._

Well, shit.


	7. i'd still miss ya baby

“Papa, can you have a look at this?” She points out a small bump on the back of her neck, on the left-hand side close to the shoulder-blade. “I think it’s a twisted muscle or something. Kinda hurts.”

He takes a look at it, feeling the shape of it carefully. “Does it hurt when I press it?”

“Ow!”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He frowns. “How long has this been here?”

“Mm… I don’t know, a couple of weeks?” She shrugs. “I think I musta sprained something in volleyball practice or something. It isn’t swollen or anything…”

He grimaces and runs his fingers over it again. “Well, if it doesn’t go down in a couple of days, we should take you to a doctor.”

“You’re both doctors,” she pouts, folding her arms.

“A medical doctor,” he clarifies. “One who can treat actual human beings.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s fine, Pops, it’s not like an infection or anything. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I’m just being cautious, sweetheart.”

 

* * *

 

Kakyoin swallows. He knows what the words mean as well as Jotaro does – better. Luckily, it doesn’t seem that either Speedwagon or Stroheim have been paying much attention to their Heptapod lessons; there’s no gasp of horror or shouts of rage.

(Well, _he’s_ not gonna be the one to translate it for them.)

Kakyoin clears his throat. “ _Buki_?” he asks, with a timorous voice. Slowly, he begins to enter the kanji into the computer.

Green interrupts him with a comment.

_Weapon is write. Pods give write._

“What do you mean?” asks Kakyoin, deleting his previous question and starting to input a new phrase. “What about the –“

Star darts forward – if Jotaro were to try to assign emotion to any creature whose emotions are on a completely different plane to his own, he’d call the way Star moves ‘impatient’. A blue and white-speckled tentacle opens:

_Bad thing. Look._

Kakyoin looks around.

“Where is the bad thing? What’s going to happen?”

_Green die. Pods give write._

“What?” Kakyoin points at Green. “You’re not going to – to die? Why? How?”

_Weapon is write. Read._

And then:

_help head blue future eight who use yes outside not number write hour star walk stop thousand run human green up give read day take ball touch die left box Noriaki we correct two ear tomorrow orange here spaceship hundred under night need bad alive why pod no hand seven Jotaro inside time you start where right red question five and thing Earth answer good weapon yesterday down twelve minute circle fight black how foot past **but now look seven seconds** –_

and more and more and more, hundreds upon thousands of words he doesn’t recognise, sentences with completely unrecognisable shapes, as Star and Green jet away into the white abyss (like octopodes, they seem to use inking as a defence mechanism when escaping predators, but that doesn’t make sense, there isn’t anything that can defeat the pods here on Earth… is there?)

He looks around. There are the others, watching; the bird and the computers and the camcorder live-linked to the ground camp, and –

a box that wasn’t there before, with red numbers flashing on a screen, and he remembers the last few words he saw –  

00:07.

00:06.

“Run!” He doesn’t wait for Kakyoin to reply but grabs his arm, pulling him along towards where he’s pretty sure he can see the sea from here, the tiny box of blue-grey seeming further away than ever –

00:05.

00:04.

Kakyoin digs in his heels, and the others – Stroheim, Speedwagon, and Anne - overtake them, not taking any notice of the two of them stopped in the middle of the passage. “Wait! We have to – defuse it, or – we have to help them!”

00:03.

“There’s no time, Kakyoin!” He grasps Kakyoin’s wrist tightly, pulling him closer –

(he smells nice, some sort of… pine? Or Asian, some sort of green tea –)

“We have to run, Kakyoin, or we’ll –”

00:02.

“I…” Kakyoin hesitates for just a millisecond too long.

00:01.

They run. The light at the end of the tunnel is still sideways – they’re not gonna –

00:00.

Heat. And light. And noise. And wet. He manages to keep his wits about him long enough to kick off his shoes and not breathe in any water – or at least not too much.

They came in a boat. He’s not in the boat, even though by all rights he should be. It’s salty. He’s cold and wet and somehow, he’s flagging, even though he should be at the peak of fitness. He… needs to…keep… kicking…

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Dad, you still have a white lab coat, right?”

“Hmm? Yeah.” He looks up. “Why? Do you need it for something?”

She grins. “You’re gonna be Rick for Halloween this year.”

“Do I have any choice in the matter?”

She shrugs. “Well, you _could_ come as Bird Person, but Weather’s already claimed him, so it would be kind of awkward.”

“You can’t be serious,” he grumbles. “Aren’t you a little old for dress-up by now?”

“No.” She raises her eyebrows at him. “I notice you haven’t mentioned that I’m also too young for _Rick and Morty_.”

“I don’t really know enough about it to comment,” he mutters. “Why? Is it adult?”

She snorts. “Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with this. But… are you awake?”

“What?”

 

Josuke snaps his fingers in front of Jotaro’s face again. “Come on, man, are you awake?”

“m ‘wake.”

Josuke sighs with relief and runs a hand through his over-preened hair. “Good. Okay, now I want you to tell me how many fingers I’m holding up –“

It’s hard to focus, though –

He has a concussion, or something; he’s not supposed to close his eyes too long. Muzzy. Not supposed to… wait. If he’s here, then…

“Where… Kakyoin?”

Josuke nods towards the next bed, where a fuzzy vaguely red shape is moving in and out of focus. He squints. “…kyoin?”

“Mm?”

“Okay?”

“Mm.”

Ow. His head hurts. But it’s starting to hurt less. “Kakyoin. The pods.”

“Mm-hm.” There’s a slight shift. “I think Green is injured.”

“How the – we’re alive, though.” He rubs his head; it’s starting to clear up a little. “We’re smaller and more vulnerable to injury.”

A sigh. Kakyoin shrugs, and Jotaro is pleased to note that he can see the shrug rather than just a vague movement. That means it’s probably going to be okay. “They were closer, maybe? And the ship is an enclosed space, after all. Maybe there was a lot of debris that we were shielded from by the walls.”

“Mm.” He looks back at Josuke. “By the way… what happened? We… were in the water…”

Josuke nods. “Ah, well, y’see Captain Lisa-Lisa, she noticed that you’d gone, an’ then Corporal Kira from munitions came back all smug with Oku and his brother – that Keicho guy, you know – and Oku came up to her all worried an’ said Keicho an’ Kira made him come along to help with a bomb, an’ that he’d seen you goin’ the other direction. So the Captain went off ta try an’ help you, an’ she got there just as it was all blowin’ up, so to speak, an’ it turns out your boat had drifted away cause the driver hadn’t anchored it properly.”

Jotaro digests this flood of information. “So Lisa-Lisa was the one that fished us out.”

“Yup!” Josuke grins. “She got you here, and I fixed you up! Oku didn’t want ta do it, cause he was all cut up about getting’ you in trouble like that, but he’s a nice guy, I swear, an’ I trust him, yannow?”

“…right.” Kakyoin rubs his forehead – he’s not wearing his glasses, and there’s a small bandage encircling his hairline – and frowns. “Then what about –”

Stroheim storms in, looking furious. “You two are up finally, are you? Good. Well, thank god no one else was injured and all that, but – what the hell did those pods say to you, huh?”

“Oh. Ah. Yes.” Kakyoin fiddles with his collar. “Right. Well, the good news is that it’s probably a mistranslation, based on our limited vocabulary.”

“And the bad news?”

Kakyoin bites his lip. “They said ‘use weapon’.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Stroheim closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. “No wonder everyone else in the world has gone crazy.”

“What do you mean, General?” asks Jotaro. “What’s happened?”

Stroheim glances at Josuke. “It okay if they get up and walk around?” he asks.

“Well…” Josuke shrugs. “As long as ya don’t let ‘em fall asleep.”

“Trust me,” grunts Stroheim. “When they see this, they’re not gonna sleep ever again.”

 

* * *

 

She gets up. “Fine. I’ll go ask.”

“Okay.” He goes back to grading papers. Then – “Oh, wait, I know what it’s called.”

She looks back sceptically. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “It’s the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. Is that what you were looking for?”

She looks back at her homework and nods. “Yeah. I guess it is.” She sits back down again at the table and picks up her pencil. “Thanks, Dad.”

“No problem.”

 

* * *

 

Chine: offline. Egypt: offline, and the last image is of the physicist Vanilla cutting off the power with the thermodynamics professor Avdol being held off from stopping him in the background. Europe: offline. Japan: offline. Brazil: offline. And on and on it goes. All eleven of the other sites, switched off.

“China’s gonna blow ‘em up,” growls Stroheim. “Everyone’s scared witless. And it’s all ‘cause of what they read from the pods. Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t give Corporal Kira a medal.”

“Well, for one thing,” starts Kakyoin, “how the fuck did he know they were going to say that? It could just be a random act of aggression.”

“Or maybe the Chinese got the same message just before we did, and communicated it to the world, and we were too busy admiring your fucking –” Stroheim waves towards the computer – “your fucking sentence machine thingy.”

Kakyoin massages his forehead. “God’s sake. We don’t even know for sure whether they know the difference between ‘weapon’ and, for instance, ‘tool’.”

“Well, do they?” grunts Stroheim.

“No!” Kakyoin starts pacing, back, forth. “If only I could figure out what they sent out just before the bomb went off, I might be able to figure it out… the weapon…”

“We’ve got the recording,” mutters Stroheim. “But it’s just a mess of words.”

“I know, but…”

Stroheim scowls. “Maybe you should go ask _them_. I’m going to make my preparations for an all-out nuclear war, if that’s all right with you.” With that, he stomps away.

“Ask them…” Kakyoin strokes his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose I could, but… how would I get there?”

Jotaro clears his throat. “I can, um, drive a boat.”

Kakyoin looks up, startled, and then relaxes. “Oh, Jotaro, of course. First Japanese, now boats. You really are a very convenient person to have around, you know that?”

“M-hm. But we should hurry,” he suggests. “There isn’t much time.”

* * *

 

_Jolyne Kujo_

_Beloved daughter, dearest friend_

_‘I will return in every song and each sunset_

_Our memory is always within reach.’_

_Age 19._

He doesn’t put flowers by her grave. She had always thought it was a stupid idea, and that the dear departed wouldn’t care either way. Instead, he lights incense as he once did for an old friend of his, as his mother taught him to do for those who had gone before.

“She was so young,” murmurs the other person. “I didn’t think…”

A sigh, half caught up by a stifled sob.

“I know,” he replies. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

He steers the boat toward the anchoring point, with Kakyoin by his side. It won’t be open, he knows – they’ve scuppered their chances of that, even without the consideration that it’s outside of visiting hours. But he keeps going, focuses on positioning them under the Obelisk and making sure they’re properly anchored in its shadow.

For a moment, nothing happens: the underside of the Obelisk stays unopened. He’s not sure why he was hoping for anything more. But then –

a black tube shoots out from the top of the Obelisk and flats down to the deck of the boat: what must be a door slides open to reveal a compartment big enough for two people.

“Well,” says Kakyoin, shaking slightly with some unnameable emotion, “shall we?”

He shrugs. “I guess we have to.”

The door of the tube closes behind them like an elevator.

 

* * *

 

Terminal.

Inoperable.

Malignant.

Returning.

“As you can see, multiple tumours have spread unnoticed to various organs – including, unfortunately, the brain. We only have a short window before – well, let’s just say that if we hadn’t found the one on her shoulder, we wouldn’t have a chance of –"

It’s not going to be enough. He can see it in their eyes. It’s not going to be enough, but they want to give her some hope, before –


	8. no i don't wanna miss a thing

Jotaro and Kakyoin step out of the space elevator, into –

He holds his breath. The white mist swirls around him, tugging at his hat – when did he put that on? – and making Kakyoin’s long curls of hair float as if in water. And there, coming towards them, is –

“Star,” he murmurs, forgetting that the atmosphere might be toxic. “Where’s Green?”

“He can’t –” begins Kakyoin, but Star has already raised a limb.

(Jotaro notices, vaguely, that the Heptapod is dozens of meters taller than he had assumed – there’s a greater body above them, long and thin and impossibly upright in the less-than-gravity. He wants to take notes, but of course he forgot his notebook.)

The black cloud takes shape.

_Green die._

“Oh,” says Kakyoin. “I…” He pushes up his glasses. “There’s so much I want to ask…”

Star shoots out another amorphous cloud of ink. This one doesn’t form into words, but hangs there, as if –

Kakyoin frowns. “I suppose that’s the most logical option. If I shape this…”

“I wouldn’t touch that for too long if I were you,” Jotaro whispers to him. “If they’re as much like octopodes as I think they are, the ink might be harmful. Don’t let it get in your eyes.”

“I thought there were dishes with squid ink in them?” Kakyoin hisses back.

“Well, it depends on the species. I’d be careful regardless.”

“Ah,” Kakyoin nods. “Right.”

Carefully, Kakyoin reaches towards the ink cloud and begin to wave it into place, into the same sentence they asked before.

_Why pods on Earth?_

And again, the same answer: _Use weapon._

“Good grief,” he mutters. “This isn’t getting anywhere. Kakyoin, we need to ask what the weapon is and how to use it, it’s –"

And suddenly, Jotaro isn’t there anymore.

 

He reaches forward and strokes her cheek with the back of his fingers. “You’ve grown into a very strong and confident young woman. I – I’m proud of you.”

“You shouldn’t be,” she mumbles. “I’ve been a real bitch to you. To you both.”

“Well, sometimes,” he admits. “But you’re also very mature, intelligent, and fun to be around. Even if you do some unwise things, that’s part of you growing up. You’re still learning, and that’s what’s important.”

She ducks her head and smiles. “Thanks, Dad. It’s like you taught me: you gotta accept yourself before you can really live. So I did.”

He blinks. “When did I ever tell you that?”

“Well, you know.” She looks up at him with those wide bright eyes, the same that have shone from her face since she was a baby. “All those times you told me about how you met Pops.”

 

He blinks, and suddenly he’s back in the white chamber. Oh. Well. That’s… different. All this time, he’s dreamt of her and, perhaps, her mother, a mystery woman who was never quite clear in his mind. But this…

It makes a whole lot more sense. He’s never really been comfortable with women, even Marina; has always sought out male friendship, and – perhaps it was more than friendship, now that he looks back.

It was Will Z in high school, an Italian transfer; in college, it was his gym buddy Messina; and even with Marina his eyes had always wandered to their weird mutual friend Mikitaka. And now…

Oh. Well. It’s Kakyoin, of course. He wonders why he didn’t see it before: it’s always going to have been Kakyoin. Strange how he knows that already, as if he’s done this before; déjà vu is nothing when compared to the mysterious powers of the Heptapods. And…

He knows, suddenly, that this is not a high school crush, nor even one of the brief infatuations of adulthood – it’s obvious, now, what their future is going to be.

(Perhaps he knew all along.)

So the weapon…  is this? The knowledge of the future? Or perhaps…

“The weapon,” he says aloud. “It’s their – it’s their language. It doesn’t just change the way they think – it’s changing the way _we_ think. Learning it gives us the ability to… to see the future, I guess. That’s why it’s a weapon.”

Kakyoin blinks. “But… why give it to us?”

Star puts forth an answer: _Pods help humans. Humans help pods._

“You… want us to help you?” asks Kakyoin, quietly.

_3,000 years. Pods need help. Humans help pods._

He has to ask. Half-knowing the answer already, he reaches forward into the cloud of ink (gaseous, slightly tacky, but not unpleasant), and forms the blobs into some semblance of a circle – not nearly as carefully constructed as Kakyoin’s, but perhaps more direct. He doesn’t know the words for ‘girl’ or even ‘female’; it’s never come up in their discussions. But the pods know colours, because of Green. Star could answer –

_Who blue green human?_

Star doesn’t reply.

 

“Ah, yes,” he nods. “I remember now.”

She smiles. “It’s that story that made me realize – it’s always good to know who you are. And so I… thought about it, and I thought, it’s not a guy I’m gonna be with. It’s always gonna be a girl, you know?”

“That…” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m not sure that’s the best lesson to get from it.”

“Why?” She grins, that sassy devil-may-care smile that’s more adult and intelligent than her cutesy little-girl phase. “You lived, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but…” He sighs. “It was a bit… difficult.”

She nods. “Yeah, I know.”

 

* * *

 

By the time he and Kakyoin get back to the base, the shitstorm has become a shit hurricane, with soldiers running back and forth and shouting at each other, with cars driving into and out of the camp, with spotlights moving lowly over the ground: it’s chaos, and they barely make it back into the comms room in one piece. Stroheim is alternating shouting orders into his radio and yelling at a selection of cowed-looking underlings.

“Stroheim, wait!” Kakyoin dashes forward and grabs Stroheim’s arm roughly. “You’re making a terrible mistake! Don’t attack the pods, please!”

Stroheim turns. “Why the fuck not? China’s ready to blow at any minute! We’re all gonna get caught in the crossfire, unless –”

“Please, sir!” Kakyoin begs. “They don’t want to hurt us!”

“Do I look like I give a shit?” yells Stroheim. “I’m busy, okay? Don’t get in my way and don’t fucking touch anything!”

“Fuck’s sake…” Kakyoin turns. “Come on, Jotaro, we need to stop this somehow, we –“

 

The president of China comes up to him and the other person, and bows. “My thanks,” he says. “You were instrumental in my decision not to annihilate the Obelisks.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met, sir.”

“Pardon?” he asks. “But you knew my personal phone number.”

“Your phone number?”

 

Kakyoin gasps. “Do you have a mobile?”

“Yeah, but –” he takes it out and shows Kakyoin the screen – “no signal.”

“Fuck,” breathes Kakyoin. “Fuckfuckfuck –”

“There’s a satellite phone near the decontamination chamber,” he interrupts. “Come on –”

Kakyoin swallows, nods. “Right –”

“Wait!” Stroheim yells. “Don’t you dare –”

But they’re already running off.

“After them!”

 

* * *

 

“Do you have a bucket list, sweetheart?”

She frowns. “A bucket list?”

“Well. You know.” He bites his lip. “Anywhere you want to go, anyone you want to meet, anything you want to do…”

She looks at him with a pained expression. “I want to live, Papa.”

“I know, sweetheart. You still might.” He reaches out and takes her hand. “You know we’ll do anything to make this easier for you.”

She sighs and rests her forehead in her free hand. “I… I just want to forget about this all and live like normal. The way we always have done. I want to spend it with you two and with Herm. If… if I can.”

“Of course you can.” He squeezes her hand gently. “We’ll be here for you, and I’m sure Hermes will be, as well.”

“Thanks, Pops,” she sighs. “Love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

 

* * *

 

Kakyoin punches a series of numbers into the satellite phone as fast as he can – it’s going to be close – Jotaro can hear the soldiers getting closer –

“Hello?” Kakyoin looks back out at Jotaro nervously from inside the plastic chamber and gives a thumbs-up. “Yes, is this…?”

A pause, and Kakyoin bites his lip, listening. “Yes… Mister President? No, this isn’t a prank… Prove it? But how –”

 

“But how could we have known that?” he asks. “We don’t know anything about you.”

“But when you called, you knew my deepest secret,” the President tells them, surprised. “You told me the last words my wife spoke to me before she died, which no one else could possibly know.”

“Remind us,” says the other person calmly.

The president leans in to whisper in their ears: a Chinese phrase which he doesn’t understand, but which has a certain rhythm and music to it that he can’t possibly forget, even in the past – or is it the future? The present? –

 

He gasps. “Tell him that phrase, Kakyoin!” he shouts. “It goes like ‘Jiānchí bùxiè, jíshǐ zài’ –"

“I got it!” yells Kakyoin. Then, into the phone: “Mr President! Jiānchí bùxiè, jíshǐ zài zuì…”

“…hēi'àn de shíkè!” supplies Jotaro.

“- hēi'àn de shíkè,” confirms Kakyoin, into the phone. “Yes, that’s right. I want to help. Please, Mister President… Don’t press that button.”

 

* * *

 

Someone else’s fingers take a hold of her hand; carefully, the other person takes the bracelet in their hand so that the small metal plaque is in full view. Their thumb traces over the half-worn engraving, blurred by (more than) a century of age and friction.

_JoJo_ , it reads, in the large, flowing script of another time. She stares at it solemnly, not wanting to break the silence by asking the other person a question.

“There’s something interesting about the name JoJo, you know,” the voice says to his girl. “It’s the same sound over again, repeating itself. That’s called reduplication. Can you say that?”

He doesn’t dare to turn his head to the side, but still catches a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye. He realises that he used to be called JoJo, too.

 

* * *

 

It all blurs together then. Suddenly everything has stopped; the alarms shut off, one by one, and the people with guns surround their little phone booth. He recognises Captain Lisa-Lisa, with a smaller blond woman; on another side, he sees Private Okuyasu, looking a little apologetic for pointing a gun in their faces. And Stroheim stands there too, fuming, but can’t do anything: what’s done is done.

The two of them come out with their hands up, looking into the torches and the barrels of the guns, and Jotaro looks at Kakyoin out of the corner of his eye and grins. Kakyoin grins back, a quiet pleasure on his face – for good reason. It’s over, at last. One way or another.

It’s over, and they’ve saved the world from a nuclear apocalypse.

Somewhere in the crowd of guns, one of the officers drops his weapon and gasps; at first, Jotaro thinks it’s because of them, but then –

“Look! It’s – disappearing!”

Then everyone is turning to look at where the Obelisk hovers over the water: it turns silently, onto the concave side, slowly transforming from a jellybean into a beret. (He’s pretty sure there’s more poetic words for that, but… well, he’s not the linguist here.)

And then… it starts to dissolve into the air, melting away into the early-morning light like a cloud on a hot day; on instinct, he reaches out and takes Kakyoin’s hand in his own.

“I didn’t know you were into men, Kujo,” murmurs Kakyoin teasingly.

“Neither did I,” he mutters. “Until I met you.”

Kakyoin smirks. “That’s sickeningly adorable. Want to get together?”

“God, yes.” He strokes the back of Kakyoin’s hand with his thumb. “Let’s have a family together.”

“Alright,” Kakyoin smiles. “Let’s.”

The Obelisks disappear into the ether, leaving no trace, as if they were never there at all.

 

“Papa, Daddy, look! I dwew a picture – that’s Papa, and that’s a nailien, an’ that’s –” She waves the picture in the air excitedly, and the other person laughs.

“Hold still, you little rascal,” says Noriaki, leaning over in his chair, “Let me see.”

“I dwew you an’ Daddy talkin’ to the nailien, see? See?”

Noriaki looks at the picture. “Oh, my, that is a very impressive alien! Don’t you think?” He gestures to one of the clusters of squiggles.

“That’s not a nailien, Papa, that’s _you_! _That_ one is the nailien!”

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, sweetheart, of course it is.” Noriaki nods sagely. “I should’ve known from the red hair.”

“Yeah,” says JoJo. “You should’ve.”

 

He’s the first person in the world to complete a doctorate on the biology of a completely alien species; the achievement is somewhat dampened by Kakyoin also receiving a doctorate, on the study of the alien language that they learnt. At any rate, he can say that he’s the only marine biologist in the world – possibly the universe – that ever communicated with them. Who knew being bilingual would be so useful?

He asks Noriaki to marry him only a year after the Heptapods threw their lives together. For the first time in his life, he feels a sense of peace. He knows who he loves. In a way, he’d known it all along. Funny how the Heptapods have predicted that. Or, well, how the Heptapods have remembered it.

The two of them stand together early one morning outside his house – their house, now, and a little less enormous and forbidding – and watch the sun rise.

“Is it worth it?” Kakyoin whispers, so small he can barely hear it. “Knowing that she’ll die either way?”

“Of course it’s worth it,” he says. “For her, anything is worth it.”

Kakyoin nods; carefully, he reaches out and takes Jotaro’s hand. “Come on, then,” he replies. “Let’s do this.”

And JoJo arrives –


End file.
